


i'm ready to play today

by pero_por_que



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Anal Sex, Bottom Louis, Football, M/M, Top Harry, nick grimshaw is there but very minor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-05
Updated: 2015-07-05
Packaged: 2018-04-07 20:08:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4276308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pero_por_que/pseuds/pero_por_que
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s standing third from the left, toes pointed inwards a bit and hands clasped behind his back.  His hair, an unruly pile of chocolate curls, is held back by a ridiculously bright, lime green head band.  Louis can just make out the swell of his biceps through the long-sleeved jersey he’s wearing, and Louis’ mouth goes dry at the sight of boy’s shorts, a pair of red gym shorts, that are just barely skimming the halfway mark of his thighs.</p><p>or</p><p>Harry tries out for the football team, and is absolutely terrible, but Louis doesn't have the heart to let him go.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i'm ready to play today

**Author's Note:**

  * For [annewithane](https://archiveofourown.org/users/annewithane/gifts).



> For annewithane. I loved your prompts, and I hope you enjoy what I came up with.

Under normal circumstances, Louis would definitely not be awake before the sun has risen, nor would he have actually listened to his alarm the first time it went off and not hit the snooze button three times in a row.

 

But today is not a normal day.  Today is the first day of season.

 

After 3 long, grueling years under the leadership of various idiots that merely thought they knew how to play football, it is finally, _finally_ , Louis’ turn.  And he is going to _smash_ _it._

 

Coach Higgins is a man of great taste, Louis thinks, adjusting his captain’s armband while gazing critically in the mirror.  Coach has seen how hard he has worked to get to this spot, has seen his dedication and resilience in the face of adversity.  He is the man for the job.  The best man for the _captain’s_ job.  If there is one thing that Louis knows for certain, it’s that.

 

Of course, today he has to prove that Coach didn’t make a mistake.  Has to weed out the naïve that think they can handle the schedule and demands of playing on a varsity football team.  Simple, really.  Louis may not know much about most things, but he knows football.  He knows who shows promise and who does not.

 

He also knows how to make people cry, which, while perhaps not a defining quality of being the greatest football captain ever, certainly must be worth something.

 

From the open doorway float the sounds of four young girls already at each other’s throats despite the early morning, overlain with the dulcet screams of his mother calling for order.  A promising start, Louis thinks, snatching a beanie on his way out the door.  It’s time to build the best football team his school has ever seen.

 

*

“I can not believe I have to be awake this early,” Zayn grumbles, hoodie pulled down low over his forehead as he slumps in the passenger seat.  “I don’t give a shit about football.”

 

“But you give a shit about me,” Louis trills.  He brakes hard, nearly launching a screeching Zayn through the windscreen, then taps the horn, alerting Liam of their arrival.  “Besides, would you have rather walked?” he asks, taking a haughty sip of tea.  He refuses to let Zayn shit on his mood this morning.  Zayn is an arse and knows nothing about the intricacies that go into football tryouts.  He also needs to stop whining so much and get on with his role as _supportive best friend_.

 

Zayn looks like he’s already planning where to dump his corpse when Liam slides into the backseat, visibly vibrating with excitement.  After tossing his duffel into the adjacent seat, he leans forward, smushing his face against Zayn’s cheek.

 

“Alright lads?  I could barely sleep, I was so excited for tryouts!”

 

“Look here Zayn!” Louis exclaims, jerking the wheel violently to pull back out into the street.  “A man that understands the importance of the voyage that we are about to embark upon!”

 

Zayn doesn’t bother to deign that with a response.  He instead closes his eyes and slumps against the door, looking as though the world has run him ragged.  Liam, however, can’t keep quiet, chattering about whom he thinks is coming to tryouts and which individuals from last year he hopes will have kept up over the break in order to return to the team.  Louis would never say it out loud, but he can detect the slight quiver of fear under all of Liam’s excitement.  Liam’s nervous that he might get cut this year, just like he has doubted his self-worth every year that Louis has known him.

 

Which is absolutely ridiculous.  Like Louis could do any of this without the best midfielder Louis has ever played with.

 

Resolving that at some point he will knock Liam out of his self-deprecating funk, Louis comes skidding to a halt in front of Niall’s house.  Zayn screeches once more, but Louis pays him no heed, already shouting Niall’s name through the open window.  The blond jumps from his spot on the kerb, duffle slung around his shoulder.

 

“All right boys?  Ready to begin the greatest football season known to man?” Niall asks, throwing his duffel on top of Liam’s while diving across his lap.  Liam squawks, shoving at his squirming body until he slides off.  “Hullo Zayn.  Wasn’t sure you’d show.”

 

Louis grins, catching Zayn’s eye in the mirror.  “Well it was either come early to practice or walk to school in an hour and a half,” Louis says as a way of answering.  Louis has known Zayn practically his whole life, and if there’s one thing Zayn hates more than waking up early, it’s physical activity.  “I told him he could kip out on the bleachers, get a few minutes rest.”  Being the only one of their group that has a car really is a blessing.  He has both his own means of transportation and the power to wield said transportation over the heads of his friends.  Best of both worlds really.

 

Louis spends the rest of the drive listening to Liam and Niall chattering happily back and forth.  He wants to join in on the discussion, but the closer he gets to the school, the tighter his grip is on the wheel.  Despite waking up feeling like he was on top of the world, the nerves are now starting to arrive in full force, and he wishes he hadn’t allowed his mum to shove so much oatmeal down his throat.  What if no one wants to tryout this year ‘cause they think he’ll be a shit captain?  That is blatantly untrue, of course, since he’s going to be an awesome captain, but facts don’t stop Louis from worrying.  Besides these three boys in his car, the rest of the school is filled with idiots.  Idiots that might tank the football team before the season has even really started.

 

These thoughts plague Louis as they reach the athletics portion of campus, the pitch illuminated by lights as the sun has not yet completely climbed above the horizon at this hour.  Louis is still worrying about tryouts as he drives into a parking stall when a gentle pressure on his arm makes him whip around.  Zayn’s big eyes, heavy with sleep, bore into his.

 

“Hey, quit gnawing on your fuckin’ lip.  It’s all going to be fine, alright?” he murmurs over the noise of Liam and Niall roughhousing in the backseat.

 

Bless Zayn.  He may be half dead to the world and irritable as all hell at half six in the morning, but he’s Louis’ best friend and always knows exactly what to say.

 

Of course, that doesn’t mean Louis is going to let this morning turn into some sappy feelings circle.  Niall and Liam have already scrambled out of the backseat, Liam attempting to dodge the thwacks that Niall is giving him with his keeper’s gloves.

 

“Get outta m’ car,” Louis grumbles, pushing against Zayn’s shoulder.  “Don’t make this into some chick flick.”  He means _thanks, love you._

 

The look in Zayn’s eye says that he got the message.

 

*

 

Louis _should_ be scanning the crowd of boys that are currently running a warm-up lap with him around the pitch and get an early feel for who looks comfortable running and who looks like they just were granted a pair of legs by a sea-witch, but his attention is currently locked onto a group of individuals sitting just a few seats down from where Zayn set up camp.  Quickly adjusting his trajectory so that he doesn’t run into Samuels, he squints against the rising sun and glares at the direction of the bleachers, just to make sure that his eyes weren’t deceiving him.

 

Grimshaw and Co.

 

The _fuck_ are they even doing here this early?  Surely this isn’t the new hip spot to hang out at in school?  Usually Grimshaw and his merry band of idiots can be found drinking black coffee in the AV room used to broadcast the weekly news throughout campus, not at the football pitch two hours before school is even set to start.

 

It’s not as though Louis _hates_ Grimshaw, per se, it’s just that multiple years of snarky back and forth comments, completely different interests, and a mutual desire to be the best liked by everyone has meant that they two don’t particularly get along.

 

“Tomlinson!”

 

Louis drags his gaze away from the group of hipster twats at Coach Higgins’ bark.  He gestures for Louis to join him over by the goal post, and Louis begins to lead the group of boys in the direction.  They all fall into a line, Liam and Niall on either side of him, and Louis stands at attention, shoulders back and chin up, waiting for further instructions.

 

“All right then,” Coach begins, arms clasped behind his back as he stares each of the boys down.  There are nearly 30 of them that made it out onto the pitch this cold morning before 7 o’clock, and Louis can’t believe he was ever nervous in the first place.  “Welcome to the first half of tryouts for the football team,” Coach Higgins continues.  “I recognize a lot of you, but that does not mean that you are automatically on the team.”  He stops here, making sure to give a half-hearted glare to Niall, who blows a kiss in return.  Coach threatens to kick Niall off the team every other week because of all the stupid shit and pranks he pulls, but Niall has the most saves of any keeper at the school in 15 years, so the threats are rather empty.  “Tomlinson here,” he beckons Louis forward to stand with him, “is going to be captain this year, and will be helping me with roster decisions this afternoon after the second half of tryouts.”

 

Coach goes on to continue explaining the tryout process a bit, and while Louis starts out listening, he immediately zones Coach out when his attention is caught by one of the boys in line.

 

He’s standing third from the left, toes pointed inwards a bit and hands clasped behind his back.  His hair, an unruly pile of chocolate curls, is held back by a ridiculously bright, lime green head band.  Louis can just make out the swell of his biceps through the long-sleeved jersey he’s wearing, and Louis’ mouth goes dry at the sight of boy’s shorts, a pair of red gym shorts, that are just barely skimming the halfway mark of his thighs.

 

When Louis drags his gaze back up to this boy’s face, he is met with a pair of bright green eyes that are staring directly at him.  Louis flushes, embarrassed at being caught looking at some stranger’s legs, but his response is nothing compared to the total crimson that overtakes the boy’s face and the speed to which he averts his eyes to the ground.

 

Who _is_ this kid?  Surely Louis would’ve known by now all of the footballers in this school.  Hell, between the four of them, they know practically everyone, and yet Louis has never once set eyes on this boy before.  He’s already thinking about the best way to communicate his confusion to Liam using a series of complicated eyebrow movements when the sound of his name pulls his attention back to Coach.

 

“So I want to see you working hard, because I don’t give hand out pity positions on this team.  Tomlinson, start the field players with some suicides, while I set up Horan and the other keepers at the goal.”

 

Niall whoops and bounds over to Coach, who rolls his eyes at his antics and leads him and the other two keeper hopefuls over to the other end of the goal.  Louis turns to look at the rest of boys, all staring at him and awaiting instructions.  Taking a deep breath and pushing away the nerves, Louis claps his hands together.

 

“You heard the coach, gentlemen!  I hope you’re warmed up, because we are not starting easy!” Louis says.  As the group of boys begins trotting over to where the cones are set up in the middle of the pitch, Louis pulls Liam’s arm to force him to walk next to him.

 

“What, Lou?” he asks, eyebrows furrowing.

 

“Who’s that?” Louis says, trying to discreetly point his gaze in the direction of the boy who’s currently trying to keep up with the rest of the jogging group and looking like Bambi in the snow for the first time.

 

Liam quickly glances at him before shrugging.  “Dunno, actually.  Don’t really recognize him.”

 

Louis can’t continue with his line of questioning as the group arrives at the first cone.  “OK, we’re starting out with five suicides,” he calls out, heading to the front to lead, as a good captain should.  “If you’re serious about this team, there will be no half-arsing anything!”

 

Louis chances a look at Bambi, who is currently chewing on his lower lip and staring at the cones in front of him.   _Fuck_ , Louis thinks, returning his focus to the grass in front of him.   _Just get through the next hour and a half_.

 

*

 

Unfortunately, all Louis can really think about for the next hour and a half is _why the_ fuck _does this kid want to tryout for football?_

 

It’s glaringly obvious that Bambi is one of the most uncoordinated individuals to ever have the misfortune to be granted with legs.  He’s constantly stumbling over his two feet, getting tripped up by the cones, and forcing everyone else trying out to give him as wide a berth as possible else they fall victim to his flailing limbs.  It’s alarming yet hopelessly endearing and Louis isn’t quite sure what to make of the silly flutter in his chest every time Bambi bites his lip and focuses really hard on the next drill.

 

By 8 o’clock, the sun has finally made a full appearance and the pitch is nearly empty.  Louis has elected to help Coach pick up the cones before the the first period gym class comes out and a bunch of year nines trample them.  This has the added benefit of Louis looking like a super helpful captian, getting a pass to be late to first period, and avoiding the crowded showers in the men’s locker room where Bambi was most likely wet and naked at this very moment.  He pushes that last image out of his head as fast as it had appeared.

 

“So, what didja think?” Louis asks, bending down to pick up the last cone.  He contemplates lobbing it at Coach’s head.

 

“Don’t you fucking throw that at me,” Coach says, seeing right through Louis as he tightens the mesh sack that holds the footballs.  Louis grins and walks the cone over to set it on top of the other ones.  “And I saw a lot of endurance this morning.  Will be exciting watching you idiots actually play with some balls this afternoon.”

 

“Aw, Coach, that’s vulgar, that is.”

 

Louis ducks as a cone is flung at his head, cackling.  “You’ll be staying with me after practice this afternoon then and helping with the final roster tally,” Coach says.  Louis takes the ball bag when it is offered to him and hoists it over his shoulder.  “Don’t make me regret my decision.”

 

Louis lifts his chin and makes sure to look at Coach directly in his eyes.  “No sir,” he promises.  Louis knows he can be a bit mischievous and hard to work with at times, but he’ll be damned if Coach ever wishes he didn’t make him captain.

 

Coach clasps Louis on the shoulder that isn’t holding the net of footballs.  “Get to class then.  I’ll see you this afternoon.”

 

Louis grins and heads off for the locker rooms.  The only thoughts on his mind are of this morning’s practice and the practice to come this afternoon, and definitely not Bambi’s long legs.  Definitely not.

 

*

 

By lunch hour, Louis has managed to make his math teacher throw an eraser at him, his English teacher to throw an uncapped marker at him, and his geography teacher contemplate throwing a chair at him.

 

Quite a successful day so far then.

 

But honestly, his teachers can’t blame him for being the tiniest bit distracted.  In addition to fretting about who he was going to have to help Coach cut from the roster, Louis also has to spend the entire day on the lookout for Bambi so he can _finally_ figure out who this kid even is and why he has never seen him before in his life.  

 

Louis being so wrapped up in his own head is the reason he gives for jumping a bit in his seat when Liam slams his tray onto the table and slides into the seat next to him.

 

“Hullo boys,” he greets, tucking into his salad.  “You ready for part two of tryouts?”

 

No, Louis is not ready for that.  He still has no idea how he is supposed to stare at Bambi for another hour and a half after school without asking to stroke his curls off his cheek.

 

“Yep. Gonna be great, innit?” Louis answers instead of unloading a bunch of feelings onto the conversation. He takes another bite of cold noodles.  “Best team ever.”

 

“Dunno ‘bout that one kid though,” Niall says thoughtfully.  “The one with the curly hair?  From my end of the pitch, looks like he was trying out on ice.”

 

Liam giggles.  “At one point he missed the ball and kicked Stan in the ankle.  Never seen Stan look so close to decking someone before.”

 

Louis, feeling rather offended on Bambi’s behalf, says “Oi! Quit it. I won’t have you slagging off a possible future teammate before we’ve even had an official practice.”

 

“Aw Lou, we’re just joking.  But you can’t honestly be thinking about keeping the Unbalanced Wonder on the team?”

 

Zayn, who had done his usual and zoned out when the topic of football came back around, quickly sits up as his gaze fastens on something at the other end of the lunchroom.  “He doesn’t look any more graceful while not running around on a pitch.”

 

Louis spins around so fast he thinks he gives himself whiplash.  Sure enough, he spots Bambi at the front of the lunch line, trying to carry his laden tray, zip his rucksack, and not take anyone down all at the same time and failing miserably.  Before Louis stands up and does something ridiculous, like rush over to help, Nick _fucking_ Grimshaw pops up out of completely nowhere and smoothly takes Bambi’s tray out of his hands and harm's way and saunters over to a table where the rest of his unbearably annoying friends sit.  Bambi follows after shooting him a grateful grin, stumbling over completely smooth linoleum before sliding into a seat.

 

“What the _fuck_ ,” Louis exclaims.  Bambi, a footie tryout, is friends with Grimshaw?  Off the pitch, Louis can see how Bambi fits in with the rest of the group: he’s wearing this flowery shirt with only a thousand necklaces around his neck, ripped jeans, and a pair of the scruffiest brown boots Louis has seen in some time.  To top it all off, the lime green headband from this morning has been replaced by a bandana.  He looks like an indie singer, and certainly not like someone who is a hopeful for this year’s football team.

 

“I’ve never seen him around school before,” Liam states, pulling Louis’s attention from his blatant staring.  “Maybe he’s new.”

 

“New to running without falling, more like,” Niall says.  Liam snorts, and even the corner of Zayn’s lip pulls up a bit.  Louis sighs.  

 

“Like I said, no shit talking.  I have to remain unbiased.”

 

“Lou, you talk the most shit in the entire school.”

 

The noodle to Liam’s face, Louis feels, is completely justified.

 

*

 

“Strenhert is gonna have to be a no.  He doesn’t have the skills, and he’s a bit of a prick.”  Coach looked up from his paperwork.  “You didn’t hear that from me.”

 

Louis nods, biting his lip to stop the shit-eating grin he can feel coming.  “Agreed.  Samuels obviously stays, but I think he should be moved back to a center defender.  He’s more comfortable there.”

 

“Was thinking the same thing.”

 

By half five, the only people that are left at the athletic facilities are Coach Higgins and Louis.  They’re slowly going down the list of hopeful boys, crossing out names and making notes in the margins about who they think will be where.  Niall and Liam are obviously in their rightful places as starting keeper and midfielder, and several other names have been sprinkled around the sloppy field Louis drew.

 

“Styles... also a no,” Coach says, scanning over his notes.  “Last thing I need is that kid giving one of my players a concussion.”

 

“Wait,” Louis interrupts.  His heart has taken lodge up somewhere in his throat.  “Which one is Styles?”

 

Coach glances up.  “Harry Styles?  Curly hair, not a single ounce of balance.  To be honest I don’t even know if he knows the first thing about football.”

 

Louis rubs his sweaty palms on his shorts.  He’s finally got a name to the face.  “But, like… he obviously tried his best, right?  And he seems nice, much less of a prick than Strenhert.”

 

“Just cause I said it doesn’t mean you get free reign to-”

 

“I think we should keep him,” Louis barrels on, his mouth making words without his brain giving permission.   _Christ_ what is he doing?  “As like a water boy.  For now.  Maybe he’ll improve?”

 

Louis’ antics have often left Coach dumbfounded but this might be the first time it’s because Louis is trying to be a nice person.  “Tomlinson,” Coach starts slowly, as if he’s having trouble finding the words.  “You do realize I can only keep 15 of you boys, 16 max, right?”

 

“Yes, Coach, I know but… keep him as an assistant or summat.  Obviously he isn’t fit to play in a match, at least not yet, but… I think he would really add something to the team.”  Louis makes sure to keep his jaw set and his gaze unwavering on Coach.  

 

Liam once read some article online about how acting confident meant others would agree with you more, or some shit.  Every few days or so Liam reads a different self-help article and excitedly tries to share it with everyone else.  Louis only half pays attention to Liam when he gets starts in on those stupid lectures, but Louis is drawing upon those fuzzy memories now to persuade Coach to keep someone completely unfit for the soccer pitch on the team.

 

Coach lets out a breath, the wind whistling a bit as it passes his lips.  “Alright. You win.  Styles can stay as my, _ahem_ ‘assistant’.  I’ll let him practice with the team too, but only cause you’re vouching for him, and--God help me--I trust you.” Merely saying the words puts a sour look on Coach’s face.

 

Louis grins.  He was not ready to let Bambi -- _Harry --_ go quite yet, and now he doesn’t have to.  Best team ever.

 

*

 

“Who is Harry Styles?” Niall mutters under his breath, scanning the list of those that have made the team.  Coach had posted the list right before the final bell, prompting a mad dash of overly excited boys to stampede through the halls to the bulletin board.  Louis, staying cool, calm, and collected, had drifted over with Liam, Niall, and a stubborn Zayn to watch the reactions of the students.

 

(Watch Harry’s reaction, really.  He still hadn’t gotten a handle on this kid but that didn’t mean he was opposed to seeing more of his face.)

 

“And what is ‘Coach’s assistant’ supposed to mean?” Liam asks, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.  “Is that a spot we’ve had before?”

        

“Coach and I decided that we needed to keep an extra player as a helper, of sorts,” Louis answers distractedly.  He hasn’t yet spotted Harry in the crowd yet, and is rather disappointed about it.  “And Harry seemed like he’d make a good helper.  He’s still gonna practice though and improve, so I don’t want to hear any shit out of either of you.”

 

“So, basically, we have a water boy now?”

 

Louis thumps Niall on the arm.  Just as he’s yowling in protest, a group of students turn the corner at the end of the hall.  Louis immediately spots Grimshaw towering over the masses and acting like a king about it, but directly to his left is Harry.

 

Louis tunes out Liam’s motherly scolding and Niall’s blubbering in favor of watching how the blush on Harry’s face spreads down his neck when he catches Louis’ eye.  While Louis isn’t opposed to more eye contact, Harry quickly averts his gaze to the ground, letting Grimshaw sling an arm around his shoulders the closer they get to the list.

 

“Can we leave now?” Zayn asks, fiddling with the zipper on his hoodie.  “I’ve got that essay due tomorrow and I’ve done fuck all for it.”

 

“Aw bollocks, that’s tomorrow?” Niall asks.  “Mrs. Brant’s gonna have me head.”

 

Louis reluctantly lets Liam tug him away from his spot against the wall where he’s been watching boys come to read whether or not they were selected from the team.  He makes sure to keep a close look on how Harry scans the paper, finger drifting down the list of names, until it comes to a halt on his.

 

“Well look at that, Harold!” Grimshaw exclaims.  Lowe and Chung, standing next to the two of them, clap excitedly.  “Looks like you’re going to be a real athlete after all!”

 

Harry lets out a big breath, fluttering the bits of hair that have escaped the confines of the bun he is sporting today.  Louis can see a hint of a grin ghosting across the kid’s face, and that’s what pushes him to speak.

 

“Hey, Styles,” Louis calls out.  The rest of the boys stop walking in front of him, and Harry turns immediately, eyes wide and biting his lower lip.  “See ya at practice,” Louis finishes rather lamely.   _Real smooth Tomlinson._

 

Harry doesn’t appear to think it was as lame as Louis did, because his eyes crinkle a little bit as he shoots Louis a small smile.  “See ya,” he answers.  Louis is taken aback by how deep his voice is, and is on the verge of doing something even more stupid when Grimshaw opens his fat mouth.

 

“Alright, this calls for a celebration!  Shall we go get cupcakes and lattes?” he asks his posse.  Chung nods happily and Lowe grabs Harry but the arm of his jacket, bodily beginning to drag him down the hallway in the opposite direction, but it’s so worth it to see Harry’s tiny wave to Louis before he disappears around the corner.

 

*

 

“Ya know, I always knew you were a bit of an idiot, but I’ve never seen you this stupid over a boy,” Zayn says thoughtfully later that night.  The two of them are lounging on Louis’ bed with their textbooks and papers strewn across the comforter in a vain attempt to look like they were working.  Niall and Liam had gone home ages ago, shooed out of the house when Jay caught them eating through half the refrigerator.  Zayn, however, stayed behind and ended up bugging Louis long enough til he told him the truth about why Harry was still on the team, despite being truly terrible at football.

        

“I mean, I think it’s sweet,” Zayn snickers, not even trying to contain his mirth.  Louis begins jabbing at all his ticklish spots, miffed about the way this conversation has turned.  “A cute story to tell the grandkids, about how you were too soft to cut their grandfather from the team cause you thought he was adorable.”

        

“Oh my god, please shut up.”

        

Zayn settles down against the pillows.  Louis gives him one last vicious poke before curling into his side.  “It’s lame, I know.”

        

Zayn nods. “No disagreement there.”  Louis sighs, but Zayn nudges his shoulder.  “But I’m not lying either.  It is pretty cute.”

        

“I’m pretty sure Coach thinks I’m an idiot.  And the rest of the team is going to think I’m an idiot when he’s at practice tomorrow, cause like, obviously he can’t play.”  Louis sighs again, thinking of the possible mutiny of the team that is sure to follow their realization that the big oaf who kept running into people and tripping over cones is still on the team.  “But he was so like...genuine?  Heartfelt?  Like he tried really hard and I’m really weak?  I don’t even know what I’m saying this is such shit.”

        

Zayn runs his fingers through Louis’ hair.  It’s quite nice and soothing, and Louis is once again reminded why he keeps Zayn around.

        

“Why didn’t you just ask him out?”

        

Louis snorts.  “Have you seen the company he keeps?  Grimshaw and the rest of them?  I doubt he’s been given a glowing recommendation of me.”

        

“You don’t know that for sure,” Zayn says gently, then reconsiders. “Actually, you’re probably right.”

        

“Exactly.  This way, everyone wins.  He doesn’t get kicked off the team, Coach gets someone to help him with all his shit, and I get to look at him for a little bit each day.”

        

Zayn shrugs.  “I still say you could just ask him out.”

        

“Shut up before I make mum kick you out of the house too.”

 

*

 

Apparently the only kind of athletic gear Harry owns consist of tiny shorts that barely flirt with the midpoint of his thighs, shirts with sleeves that hug his biceps, and ridiculous headwear.

 

Louis keeps waiting for him to finally show up to practice wearing normal sized shorts, but three days in to the first week of official practice, he has no such luck.

        

“Let’s pick up the pace!” Coach shouts as the team trots out onto the pitch from the locker room.  Harry is already out on the grass, pulling balls from the mesh bag and adjusting the filled water bottles on the bench.  He glances up when the rest of the team arrives, a happy grin on his face.

        

Louis had initially had some reservations about convincing Coach to keep Harry as an assistant.  What if Harry felt like he was being pitied, or coddled?  While that was definitely not Louis’ intention, he couldn’t help but fret that Harry would think about that.

        

However, such worries seem to have been for naught.  Either Harry is a great actor, or he truly enjoys making sure water was always on hand and the cones were always set up.  Whenever Coach claps him on the back he beams like the fucking sun.  It is rather distracting.

        

Better yet, Louis gets to watch him try his hardest to improve at the drills they run through each practice.  Despite having exchanged only a handful of words with Harry, Louis already feels like he knows so much about Harry.  He knows how Harry tries his damn best at every drill they run, even if that results in him in the dirt.  He knows how Harry giggles at Niall’s outlandish jumps and dives for the ball, and he knows how Harry’s mum always comes to pick him up after practice.  He knows Harry moved here from Cheshire when his mum was offered a better job (overheard from a conversation Harry had with Josh) and that he has an older sister at university in London that he absolutely adores.

 

Louis fancies himself an expert on Harry at this point honestly.

        

Practice is grueling today.  Coach isn’t pleased with anything they do during the scrimmage, and he’s in such a foul mood even Niall refrains from his usual antics.  By the end of the two hours, Louis is ready to soak in a hot shower for a couple of months and then sleep for the rest of the year.

        

He’s halfway through stripping out of his sweaty gear in the locker room when Liam sidles up to his side.  “Wanna come over?” he asks.  “My parents are out for the night and we can order pizza and play Fifa in the basement.”

        

That honestly sounds like the perfect way to end this day from Hell.  Louis’ just about to tell Liam so when he drops the bomb.  “Oh, and I invited Harry.”

        

“What? Why?” Louis asks, unprepared this detail. Liam shrugs.

        

“Well he’s not that close with anyone on the team yet so I thought it’d be nice to ask him to hang out.”  Of course he did.  Liam is always too thoughtful.

        

Niall pops up next to Liam, running a towel through his damp hair.  “Hurry up, Lou, I’m feckin’ starved over here.  Never had to do so many squats in me life,” he complains. “And Harry’s already waitin’ outside.”

        

Okay.  Cool.  Awesome.  Louis can totally hang out with the lads and Harry and not act like an utter tit.  He keeps repeating that mantra to himself as he heads for the showers.

        

The mantra does fail him a bit when he stumbles out of the locker room ten minutes later to the sight of Harry standing with his friends, pigeon-toed and giggly as Niall tells some story with wild hand motions and a manic grin.  Louis composes himself for a moment before heading over to the group.

        

“Well are we going to just stand here all night?  I was promised food and Fifa,” Louis says haughtily.  He can’t help how he can legitimately feel his face soften as he looks at Harry and addresses him. “Hi, Harry, all right?”

        

Harry shoots him a small smile.  “Yeah, you?”

 

Louis grins in return.  “Great.  Ready to kick some arse at Fifa.”

 

The drive to Liam’s passes easily enough, with Harry tucked into the backseat between Niall and Liam.  Zayn of course, having called eternal shotgun, fiddles with the radio while Louis tries to not look at Harry too much in the mirror.

 

After finally setting up the Xbox and paying the delivery boy for the pizza, the five settled in to the squashy couches down in Liam’s basement.  Louis manages to solidly destroy Niall the first round, but generously acquiesces his controller to Liam in order to concentrate a bit more on Harry, who ended up next to him on the couch and is currently nibbling on a slice of cheese pizza.

        

“So, Harold, tell me,” he starts, turning a bit on the couch to face him.  Harry looks a bit startled to be addressed so directly, but gives Louis his full attention.  “I’m curious.  How’d you end up with Grimshaw’s gang?”

        

Harry looks puzzled.  “Oh, Grimmy?  Well, um, we were sat together in English on my first day and he invited me to eat with them, and after that we all started getting coffee together after school and sometimes we go see these really cool French films down at the cinema and-”

        

It’s the most Louis has heard Harry talk yet, and on anyone else, this kind of rambling would annoy him.  On Harry though, it’s rather endearing.

        

“So what kinds of vicious lies does he tell about me?” Louis interrupts Harry’s tirade, sure that if he didn’t Harry would give him a run through of every activity he and Nick have done since he got here.  He also does honestly want to get a sense of what Harry’s perception of him his, and if he’s done nothing but hang out with Grimshaw since arriving at the school, it can’t be all that good.

        

“Oh, well, I wouldn’t say vicious lies…” Harry starts, clearly unsure what to say.  Niall snorts.  

 

“He’s actually the one who persuaded me to try out for the team,” he continues.  “I probably never would have if he didn’t convince me.”

        

“Had you, uh, played on a team at your old school?” Liam asks delicately, or as delicately as he can.  Harry shakes his head.

        

“Of course not.  It’s--it’s pretty obvious I’m not very good at football,” Harry sutters.  If he wasn’t uncomfortable before, he definitely is now.  “I just--um, I just really wanted a chance on the team, cause I’d, um, always wanted to be on a football team.”  He looks at Louis with his big, sincere eyes.  “And I’m really glad I got the chance.”

        

“Here here!” Niall yells, failing to stop yet another of Liam’s shots.  “We’ll have you ready to join Team England in no time!”

        

Louis can’t help but throw an arm around Harry’s shoulders.  “Stick with us, kid.  You’ll be Beckham 2.0 if I have anything to say about it.”

        

Harry beams and snuggles closer into Louis’ side.  Louis takes it as a win.

 

*

 

Following the hangout in Liam’s basement, Harry becomes a much more steady member of the group.  He still eats with Grimshaw and Co. half of the days of the week, but the other half is spent at Louis’ table, giggling at Niall’s lunchtime antics, chatting with Zayn about the poetry they’re both reading, and flashing his dimple whenever Louis turns his attention onto him.

        

Which, quite honestly, happens a lot.

 

Louis can’t help it though.  He thought he knew Harry before and he was pretty sure he was a bit gone for him, but now that he’s spending much more time in his presence, he that’s he’s probably halfway in love with him.  All Louis really wants to do is kiss Harry _hello_ in the morning when they meet up in the hallway and hold his hand to and from practice in the afternoon.  Sometimes at night, when Louis is sure his sister’s are fast asleep in the room next door, Louis lets his thoughts drift to Harry’s big hands and what they would feel like on his thighs and ends up stroking himself to a messy finish.

        

So it’s a bit of a problem that he honestly can’t get a handle on Harry’s feelings.

 

Sometimes Louis thinks that there’s a chance Harry feels a fraction of the same way Louis does.  When he catches Harry staring at him from across the field, or when Harry holds eye contact just a bit longer than normal, Louis thinks that he might just have a chance.

 

But then Harry will laugh across the cafeteria at something Grimshaw said, or he will focus just as intently on Liam when he starts in on one of his rants about his most recently read self-help article, and Louis is once again reminded that Harry is just like that with everyone.  He’s always so intently focused on everyone so thinking that it’s special in Louis’ case is stupid.  Louis resolves to focus on being friends with Harry and to stop wishing for more, because being Harry’s friend really is one of the best things that’s happened to him in a while, and he doesn’t want to lose him over a stupid crush.

 

It’s not that simple though.

 

After winning the first match of the year, Stan throws a massive party at his house, and nearly the entire student body of their year shows up, in addition to younger kids hoping to score some free beer.  Zayn, princess that he is, spent forever and a half doing his hair while Louis waited to drive him to the party, so by the time Louis arrives with Zayn in tow, Niall has taken over DJ responsibilities and is exclusively blasting Justin Timberlake, Liam is in the middle of a drunk hula-hooping contest with Jesy, and Harry-

 

“Fuck,” Louis mutters under his breath, watching Alexa and Daisy sandwich a tipsy Harry between the two of them as they dance.  Harry’s little hips are moving with the beat, and he’s got his goofy smile on his face as he laughs with the girls.

 

“I need a drink,” Zayn says, already heading through the throng of people towards the kitchen.  Louis grabs onto his shirtsleeve to follow him, deciding he too needs alcohol in his system to be able to handle being around Harry without doing something inappropriate.  On their trek to the kitchen, Louis is patted on the pack nearly a dozen times as people throw congratulations at him for leading the team to victory.  Louis can’t help but beam at everyone of them, so so _so_ happy that he’s actually doing a good job as captain.  Best team ever, really.

 

After taking a few shots of something dark and foul with Zayn in the corner of Stan’s trashed kitchen, Louis is feeling much braver about being around Harry.  He’s pretty sure that he won’t do anything stupid, and even if he does, at least he can blame it on being drunk.

 

When Louis returns from the kitchen to the makeshift dance floor, he sees Harry and Grimshaw whispering to each other by one of the speakers.  Louis wants to march over there and demand Harry’s attention, but Liam snakes an arm around his waist before he can and drags him into dancing with him to “SexyBack.”

 

Louis needn’t have worried though, ‘cause as soon as he starts dancing, a tap on his shoulder causes him to swing around.

 

“Hazza!” Louis exclaims happily.  Perhaps he’s a little drunker than he thought.  “I was wondering where my favorite football star was!”

 

Harry smiles.  “Louis, I played for the last 30 seconds.”

 

“And they were a great 30 seconds!” Louis responds.  Justin is “taking it to the chorus,”  and Louis is rather in the mood to shake his bum a bit.  “Now, are you gonna dance with me or what?”

 

Harry flushes but nods, letting Louis grind back onto Harry for the rest of the song.  This is not how Louis envisioned this night going, but he definitely isn’t complaining.  Besides, he dances with his friends all the time, but it doesn’t mean he wants to kiss them.  Of course, he does have different wants with Harry, but he is going to keep those to himself.  It isn’t until Niall has transitioned into “Summer Love” that Louis realizes that Harry’s hands are trembling on his hips, and he can hear Harry panting in his ear.  “Harry?” Louis questions, glancing over shoulder.  Harry quickly detaches himself from Louis, a move which Louis does not exactly appreciate.

 

“Harry, what’s the matter?”

 

Harry shakes his head and takes a deep breath.  “I’m really rather drunk,” he says, speaking slower than usual.  A sweaty curl falls into his face, and Harry clumsily pushes it back before Louis can do it for him.  “I think I need some air.”

 

Oh Christ.  What if Harry knows how Louis feels?  What if Louis made him uncomfortable by asking him to dance and he didn’t know how to let Louis down nicely?  Knowing that it would be worse to just let Harry leave and never know the truth, Louis immediately grabs Harry’s bicep and begins dragging him through the throngs of drunken idiots to the small patio in the back of Stan’s house.  He lets go of his grip only when the sliding door is shut behind them.

 

“Hey, what’s up?” Louis asks, concerned.  Harry isn’t meeting his eyes.  Louis’ heart speeds up a bit.  “Feeling a bit better? Don’t want you throwing up all over the place,” he jokes lightly.

 

“Lou, I have to tell you something,” Harry says suddenly.  “And I’m worried you’re going to be upset.”

 

Louis’ brain immediately supplies a hundred different things that Harry could say in this moment, ranging from Harry knows about Louis’ crush on him and would like him to stop being so obvious about it to Harry would really like to stop being his friend.

 

In all honesty, Louis is rather terrified.

 

Harry lets out a big exhale, looking as though he’s gearing up to march out to war.  “I didn’t really want to be on the football team, you know.”

 

And that--that is definitely not what Louis was expecting.  At all.  In fact, Louis opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, completely flabbergasted and unsure what to say.  Harry, for his part, looks miserable.

 

“But… you tried out and...huh?” Louis fishmouths.  He feels as though he’s about to realize he’s on an episode of Punk’d.  “I am very confused.”

 

Harry frowns, looking out into the grass and away from Louis.  He says nothing for a few tense moments, and then,  “I’ve had this massive crush on you since I moved here.”  Louis can feel his heart lodged somewhere in his throat.  “But you never noticed me, and we didn’t have any classes together, and then Grimmy convinced me that the best way to get your attention would be to try out.  I obviously thought I’d be cut, cause like, I literally know nothing about playing football, but it would be a way to get introduced to you.”  Harry’s fists are balled pretty tightly at his sides.  He exhales heavily once again.  “But then I got on the team? And we became good friends and I felt like I was living some terrible lie but I really, truly enjoy being a part of the team and seeing you everyday but still--I feel so terrible about it.”  Harry finally turns to look at Louis in the eyes, looking on the verge of tears.  “And I don’t want you to hate me or think I’m weird but I had to get it off my chest.”

 

There is a solid 30 seconds following Harry’s confession that Louis can not move, feels like he is physically pinned to the ground and is simply awaiting the arrival of Ashton Kutcher and a television crew.  But when Harry pleads a quiet “Say something”, Louis has no choice but to fling himself at Harry and press their lips together.

 

Harry’s muffled gasp is quickly overtaken by a whimper as Louis enthusiastically kisses him.  Their lips work together for a few glorious moments before Harry pulls away, far too early for Louis’ taste.

 

“But--you--I thought you’d be mad--” Harry stutters, hands clenching on Louis’ hips.  Louis grins.

 

“I kept you on the team cause I thought you were cute and I didn’t want to let you go,” Louis whispers.  He presses a kiss to Harry’s collarbone, relishing in the tightening of Harry’s hands and tiny whimper the action causes.  “And ‘cause I was too scared to ask you out.”

 

The smile Harry gives Louis is so bright it could power the lights for a hundred soccer pitches.  “Well, Louis Tomlinson, would you like to get dinner with me sometime?”

 

Louis grins back, arms up around Harry’s neck.  “I would absolutely love to.”

 

*

 

A week, two dinner dates, and another football win later finds the Tomlinson house empty of people except for Louis and Harry in Louis’ room, with Louis sat on Harry’s cock.

 

“Lou, _please_ -”

 

Louis shushes Harry, running his fingers through his hair soothingly while relishing in the slight burn of Harry’s thick cock in his arse.  He wiggles a bit to get more used to it, and Harry gasps, his lovely hands tightening Louis’ thighs which are splayed out on either side of Harry’s hips.  “I told you that I was going to do the work.”

 

Harry moans, head falling against the pillow while Louis uses his legs to slowly lift up a bit and before slamming back down.  Louis watches in awe as Harry turns his head to bite at the pillow.  “Louis, please move, _please_.”

 

He could definitely get used to the begging.  Another smooth lift up has Harry’s cock brushing against Louis’ prostate, and Louis can’t help the moan that is torn from him, hole tightening deliciously around Harry’s thick length.  Harry looks as though he might _cry_.

 

“I’ll let you flip me over and fuck me the way you want if you promise to bring some of those orange slices to practice tomorrow,” Louis says, managing to not sound as breathless and strung out as he feels.  Harry’s nodding frantically before the words are even all the way out of his mouth.

 

“Promise, I promise,” he’s gasping, already rolling Louis over and starting to pump his hips.

 

Best team ever, really.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for all the kind comments and kudos! This was my first fic (of hopefully many) and if you ever want to chat I'm at pero-por-que.tumblr.com.


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